


This is the last fight I’ll give away

by jvc808



Category: Charmie - Fandom, Timothée Chalamet/Armie Hammer - Fandom, Timothée/Armie
Genre: Angst, Longing, Love, M/M, Pain, Resentment, Reunion, Separation, Slow Burn, Withdrawal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-11
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2020-09-01 08:57:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20255524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jvc808/pseuds/jvc808
Summary: A piece of Armie trying to be good and failing, miserably.





	1. Chapter 1

You look towards the limp body adorning the bed. Posed just like a throw pillow, added for decoration. His body contorted against alandscape of messed up sheets and scrunched up pillows. _It looks like a nest of limbs you’d like to come home to_.

You hover over the bed and resist the urge to burrow your face in the confines of his neck, sure that if you’d wake him you’d be enraptured and held captivefor the rest of the day. But time is never on your side and you’re positive time speeds up when you’re in the same time zone. A day gone in minutes. Night time is even worse. Time dilutes to a blink of an eye. A kiss. A long hard stroke.

Its become tradition not to bid your goodbyes. 

But your sharp intake of breath is an alarm bell to his ears and you watch him stir as one, two of his arms reach up in the darkness and you make your way to turn your back to him but he’s already encircling you at the hips. His nimble fingers travel down the front of your crotch.

“I hate _this_\- you know that right? I hate **you**.” His voice still muddled from the drunkness of sleep. 

“I know.” 

You close your eyes and unravel his hold and bring his fingers to your lips. You kiss all the digits and you wish you could take even just a piece of him with you-it would be this. Your hand cradling his, right above your heart and he seems to pick up on this- the tension of you leaving so he tears his hands away and you hear the sound of him throwing himself back on the bed. He curses. Then curses at you. 

“You can’t just fuck and leave.” His voice reaching a higher pitch and you don’t even need to see it-you hear it- the quiver of his lips.

“Im not- you can’t do this. Armie...please, you’re killing me. Who the fuck do you think you are?” Anger in his voice. 

Then, “Please...please just come back to bed.”

You reprimand yourself then for not having fucked him hard enough to have successfully knocked him out. Maybe he’ll think this as a dream sequence.Would it? A dream? Or a nightmare? You don’t know anymore, yourself. 

The aftermath that comes after this type of indulgence doesn’t seem to balance itself out anymore. Everything always a little more sour, wounds become a little more deeper, resentment sits a little more readily on his tongue. 

You should have left sooner. Left when he gave in to slumber. Should have never came here at all.

You thought you could do this. You could end it like an addiction. Cold turkey- like cigarettes, drugs or alcohol. You’ve done this with all your vices even, before. Of course, it never lasts-you could go days and weeks and sometimes even months before you find yourself knee deep in all of the sins you’ve starved from yourself. So much whiskey, so much smoke. So much  _him_ .

You’ve weaned off contact this prior year. Missed calls and unanswered texts. 

Missed calls. Texts. Interspersed slurred words left on voicemail. (_You would play these over and over-in your own drunken stupor late night in bed)_ Threats between ultimatums. Tim through sobbed filled hiccups desperate“ _Armie- I swear to god if you don’t pick up-“_

So he swore to god and when he stopped reaching out you realized your strength in all of this was false. A facade. This resolution only worked if Tim was still a participant and when he disappeared on you completely, so did your resolve. 

He returned to you a taste of your own medicine and when the first drop hit your tongue it paralyzed you like it was poison. 

You let the phone ring off the hook. The dial tone lulled you to sleep-an alternative to counting sheep.  You don’t know how many voicemails you’ve left or what you’d even said (sometimes you talk in your sleep)

But this has pacified you for a while knowing that Tim was still there-on the receiving end. That he had to read your words, hear your voice. You let your thoughts run wild and you imagined him reacting to you. His contorted facial expressions, maybe made him swallow- a gulp. The bobbing of his throat. That you still held power over something as little as a furrow to his brow- a wetness to his eyes. His blood rushing down south.A twitch to his groin. Anything, really. Even knowing that he had to use his fingers to decline your calls. To delete your texts. 

You did this, until you couldn’t. 

“**We’re sorry, you have reached a number that has been disconnected or no longer in service.”**

The next second you were confirming your flight. Since you had no means to know where he was or where he was staying youfigured you would just show up at this next screening, throw caution to the wind. 

You arrive in the middle of flashing lights and a hum of disbelief. 

** _-Ohhh my god_ **

** _-Is that? _ **

** _-Holy shit! Is that Armie Hammer!!!!!?_ **

The murmurs heighten to a deafening sound. The  flash of lights become blinding and the cameras click so fast that a steady white blankets the surrounding area. 

And then you see it-the greens of his eyes...


	2. Hey green eyes, Im going blind

360 degrees of voices shout for your attention and requests are made for photos of the two of you. You see Brian hovering in your periphery. You are quick on your feet, not knowing whether to run towards him or to run away. A dance of two steps forward and one step back. Your moving forward and hes stepping back.

-**Its Elio and Oliver!** They say.

You manage to snag your arm around him and he lets you pull him to your side. Effortlessly. He fits into the snug of your arm, perfectly and for a moment you feel _divine_. He puts his arm between you and pushes off you lightly- an effort to create some distance. 

Through clenched teeth he whispers in a volume thats meant just for you:

“What the _fuck_ are you doing?” and the puff of his breath ignites your ears-warmth fills you to the base of your toes. 

You’ve been cold for so long.

You both pose for pictures as a distraction. You don’t know that you’re staring but you realize his eyelashes seemed to have grown. 

*****

_“Tim? Buddy-are you okay? Wait. What are you-“_

_Its early days into shooting and both of your are fitted on a couch-watching some sort of documentary- the mandatory night cap to the end of a hard working day. _

_It gets to a particularly boring part of the score when you realize Tim is not watching the film but is instead watching you. Fixated even. You move your head to discern the origination of his attention and his eyes follows suit. You wipe your face thinking it may be the remnants of food left. You swat at your jaw as if there a bug may be._

_“Wait-“ He says as he his fingers emerge underneath a tunnel of his oversized sleeve. _

_He moves towards your face, closer and closer. Close as he reaches out and lays his finger on your cheek. _

_He brings his finger to your vision and a single eyelash lay on his skin, the other end fluttering with the wind. _

_He puts his other hand on your thigh for better leverage and scoots up closer to you-brings his finger to your lips. _

_“Armie! Its an eyelash-you got to make a wish.”_

_You roll your eyes but you grin just the same._

_Tim attentively waits on your lips-waits on you to make your wish._

_“Now blow.” He says_.

*********

Tim’s lashes have grown. Has this time been kind to him? Is he better without...

You are ushered into the theatre and its not intentional but you bump into him in the dark on your way to the seats. Your fingers try to fight their way to his but its swatted away with 

“Stop. Are you out of your mind?!”

Brian tries to sandwich himself between you two as you make a stop to sit down next to him but Tim assures him its okay and he looks at you a bit more timidly now. He sits down and hugs the arm rest to the side opposite of you-his knees bouncing in tandem to the beats inside your chest. 

********

“_Timmy T, I know all your tells.”_

_“Fuck you hammer-how’d you know I was bluffing anyway?” _

_He slams the cards down and pushes his chips away. _

_“Stop taking all my money.” Pouts._

_“Tim-you’re a shit liar. You have obvious tells by the way.” _

_You quirk your brow towards his legs-the fast past bouncing slows. _

_“Oh..._

_Yeah, this. I hate it man, whenever I get nervous I feel it in my legs first. It travels all over my body after that-i hate it. It gets worse if i don’t stop it there. It usually helps when I squeeze my thighs. I have to physically stop the tremors.” _

After he told you, you took it like a secret. Held it like a code. Unlocked a new language. A language just yours and his alone.

In airplanes before take offs. During interviews. Between takes-you let him borrow the spans of your hand, “_It feels better when you do it-might be better if you do it._” Both in agreement of the “hugeness” of your palm. 

*************

He knows what you’re thinking about. You know that he does. Before you are able to reach over and grab onto this thighs-he stills. Closes the gap of his legs and moves more to his side.

You lay back into your chair and fist at your own thighs instead. 

When the movie starts another challenge begins. You don’t know whether to stare at the blown out version of him or _him_. The screen wins out. This scene zooms into Tim’s lips-so big it could cover your body whole-swallow you whole. 

Its a sex scene-turns out. You’re a masochist-it turns out and you know that Tim is watching you as you watch this. 

As an actor you know that its not real. As an actor you know that its not. But it is? Is it not? (_Until its not_)

Your blood boils in jealousy. In envy. In arousal. 

In the middle of his sex scene-a 6 foot and five inches silhouette stands and tumbles its way towards the exit door. Your shadow obscuring the vision of on screen Tim’s bare chest and panted breaths.

You make it past the swinging doors and you make your way to barricade yourself in a stall. You feel his presence behind you as he pushes his way in.

You grab at his face first before anything. 

“Hammer-you must have lost your god damned mind.”

You bring your lips to his outgrown eyelashes and you _blow_. 


	3. Eight Feet Under Water is Where We Dare

You turn to face him- but the moment you do-like opposite ends of a magnet he forcefully snaps your head back to the metal sheen of the wall. Your face is pressed to the stall and your breath collects condensation while you do your best to steal glances. But you’re only allowed fragments of him then. The corner of his lips. A flicker of his tongue. Furrowed brows. You collect these images like puzzle pieces and store them away for those long nights at home. Try to piece an image of him- how he might look like fucking you like this from behind. 

His nails dig into the small of your back. Claws its way up to your shoulder blades while he thrusts and thrusts. You don’t know which pain to focus on- the breaking of your skin or the sharp entrance of  _him_ . You know he does this so he can go home with traces of you under the open space between the crescents of his fingertips. Knows he does this for you for the scab overs- knows  how you trace over them on nights alone. Wishes he would dig into you deeper so you’d be left with scars even. Something to remember this by.  _Could even slice you right up if this was really the last time. _

You would allow it. Knows you probably deserve it.

He tugs your head back so hard you know he’ll be taking traces of your blonde hair back home and its okay because you both need it just like this. Just like you need his teeth as it drags on top of your collarbone and he more bites than sucks at it. Knows he’s tasting blood now as you feel a wetness trickle down your chest. You watch as his tongue laps it up. 

But he doesn’t stop there because he’s craving something of a saltier variety. So you give him your tears then- and it must be enough because you feel his heart pulsating deep inside of you and he’s filling you with pieces of him. This-this is yours for you to keep.

So its okay if you no longer communicate on the day to day. Okay if you can never wake up next to him. Okay that you can never fall asleep to the beating of his chest. Its okay because he has pieces of you in him and he has pieces of him in you. 

And its okay until...

the scars fade and until the bruises change from black to yellow to none. Then its back to that frantic desperation. Back to drowning until you’re grasping for him like you’re in the deeps of the ocean looking for the shore. 

But every time this happens-he moves farther and farther away. 

Every time this happens you have to hold your breath a little bit longer-fight a little bit harder. 

The journey back to him feels more and more like death and dying each time. 

But its worth it because in these brief encounters and stolen moments you are brought back to life. No one can make you feel alive like how he does. Intensifies and brings every emotion out of you just by the shimmer of his eyes. The sounds of his cries. The scrape of his nails. His lips on your flesh. His flesh in yours. 

His very existence; your life line. 

You hear him fasten his belt buckle behind you and its your cue to put yourself in a mentally serene space. Before- you’d cling to him. Refuse him to leave. Catching your breath between sobs and “sorrys.” and “i love you.” and “please come here.”

Now- you just count backwards from ten.

** 10\. 9. 8.**

You’re in the Caymans now the sand is warm under your toes.

**7\. 6. 5.**

You make your way into the water. Feel it go past your knees.

**4\. 3**.

Up to your shoulders now.

**2\. 1...**

Your head is fully submerged in the water now as a muddled sound of the door clicking-of him leaving makes its way to your ears. 

He’s gone and suddenly you’re drowning. _Again_.


	4. Theres something dancing in my head to a song I can’t forget

Its been weeks since your last encounter. Weeks since you tipped your head back towards the sky, with him squeezed right under you wondering if you’ve made it to heaven. In that moment. 

These times-you’re in hell. 

Hell because the blur of rotating bodies in your daily life are just a mass of skin, hair and bones and you can’t recall their importance to you-let alone their names. 

You wonder if its even the same for him. 

Hurts to know that it might not be, hurts more to know if it is. 

But the remedy he holds in his kiss- in his soul are both the medicine and the poison but you don’t know which ones which. 

_You did the right thing. _

But its okay because you’ve built years worth of memories encapsulated there in your mind. A spinning reel in your mental, accessible to you for your daily needs. Close your eyes and picture. You’ll live. You’ll breathe. 

The only worry then becomes the fear that your mind might imitate that of a physical photo. Over time could it fade or rot; will the edges bleed? Will the image distort? Would it develop a brown sheen...dull and lessens it vibrancy? Over time..could it render obsolete? 

_You couldn’t. You wouldn’t._

Blinds turned in, you cocoon yourself in your sheets. The stench of liquor hovers around you and clings to your skin. Your breath.It still amazes you how immediate your mindconjures up these visuals. Almost like the back of your eyelids were permanently etched with the imprinting of his limbs. Those eyes...

So he lives. Lives there in your mind. Safe behind your eyes. With every pause or vacancy he allows you a visit. This time its:

******

“_No, Tim.” _

_“Come onnnnn, Armie. I’ve never done it before.”_

_“Do it with Archie.”_

_“You could be my first.” _

_He tilts his head and arches his eyebrows to be suggestive and you’re tempted. You really are...but he- he has powdered sugar on the tip of his nose and you didn’t tell him. Not yet. _

_“You’ve never gotten an eskimo kiss? Its childish Ti-“_

_But hes on you now, trapped beneath his straddle and the couch. He wraps his fingers around your chin and rubs the scruff of your jaw with his thumb._

_He grins just a little before tipping his head forward and you feel the skim of his nose on yours. He caresses the tip of your nose with his and you’re instantly regretting sayin no before. His lips brush past yours and its so close, yet too far away so you angle your head just so and now you have the softest part of his body between your lips and you suck until he breaks off of you enough to whisper a thank you. A hummed acknowledgement is exchanged as words cant be formed in this daze. _

_“Ill give your nose a real kiss now.” He says before he gives it a kitten lick. A peck and then “why do you taste sweet?” Answers himself with “Of course you do.”_

_But you’re really the sweet one Tim. Its been you all along. _

*******

The memory shatters and you’re gasping for a breath. Your heart is racing and beneath you, a pillow is stained wet from where your eyes had been. 


End file.
